Stop All The Clocks
by Bethany Ruth
Summary: Arthur thought of all the 'darling's, all the smiles and all the smells, and smiled.


**Okay, I'm not going to write anything at the end of this fic because I think it'll ruin the atmosphere. Basically, a line in The Mentalist just struck up an entire idea for a story in my mind and so I went through with it right now. Please review and most importantly enjoy. Thank you so much.**

"Eames," Arthur mumbled "Eames, I have to go." The larger man grumbled above Arthur, decidedly tightening his arms' grip on him and snuggling further into the back of his neck. "_Eames_."

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"That. That stern voice you do. Like you're training a dog. You know I've never liked it, even before we were together and I fantasized about everything you did, that always made me feel small." The pair was lying on Arthur's hotel bed, both in sharp black suits, in a tight embrace. Arthur lay with his face pressed into a pillow, eyes a thousand miles away, listening to the even breathing of Eames above him, holding him, loving him. Arthur thought about when he first used his stern voice on Eames.

"_If we just...told the mark about the troubles his father had accepting that she wasn't really his child, maybe we can get the information out of her that way."_

"_I don't think making up a story about her past will help us any Eames, she seems to have a solid relationship with her father."_

"_Yes – on the surface – but-"_

"_**Eames**__. Leave it. We'll find another way."_

Eames had shut up after that, not made any more suggestions to the entire job. It had ended in a messy, psychological gun fight. Upon reflection, Arthur thought it could have all been avoided if he'd stepped down from his high horse and just accepted Eames' suggestion. He thinks the job would have gone off entirely more smoothly if they had made up a lie like that. The subconscious is a very suggestible entity after all. It doesn't matter now though. Now it's too late.

"I'm sorry Eames. I won't do it again."

"I forgive you." Eames replied almost immediately, seeming to have fallen guilty about admitting his disliking of the voice already. When Arthur shifted away slightly, making to get up, Eames tightened his grip once more and pulled to two together again. "Oh no you don't."

"Eames come on, I have to leave. I'm already late."

"Then why not just not _go_ darling? It's not like they _need_ you there."

"No, they don't. But I need to go. For myself." Arthur firmly pulled Eames' arms from around him and sat up, settling his feet solidly on the hardwood flooring surrounding the bed and resting his head in his hands. Before he could fully stand, two well-dressed arms wound around his shoulders and a mouth he loved to death kissed the back of his neck.

"But if you go, you'll leave me."

"No I won't, you're coming too. That's why you're dressed so nice."

"Ah yes." Eames replied with a chuckle, unwinding his arms from around Arthur and standing from the bed. Arthur looked up to see Eames holding a hand out to him. "Shall we, darling?" Arthur took his hand and smiled – a real smile – when Eames pulled him into another hug.

"Did you know, I've always loved it when you call me darling?"

"Really? I thought it irritated you?"

"Nope. The first time you did it, I was shocked, but I had these butterflies in my stomach, and every time you've done it since then, it's like you've shouted in a cave of bats. They jump around and flutter, bouncing off the walls of my body and echoing in my heart. I really love it. Please don't ever stop." Arthur rested his head against Eames' neck, softly kissing the older man's collar bone.

"I promise." Eames replied earnestly. Arthur thought about the first time Eames had called him 'darling'.

"_You know Eames, that might just work."_

"_Hate to blow my own horn, but I know darling."_

"_Darling?" Cobb had commented, choosing to ignore the blush that had risen on Arthur's twenty year old face at Eames' choice in words._

"_I think it suits him." Eames replied offhandedly. "You know, because he's so darling. Always getting us coffee, remembering that I only drink tea, milk no sugar. Getting our coats when we arrive in the morning and hanging them up. Making us lunch. He reminds me of my mum sometimes. And she's a __**real**__ darling. Ergo, he suits it." Eames took a sip from his tea and turned to Arthur, noticing the colour in the other man's face. "I also __**adore**__ the little blush you're sporting pet, I think I'll use darling more often._

Arthur had wanted to make him promise to use it more often. But it doesn't matter now. Now it's too late. "Darling?" The butterflies stirred up, as they had every time Arthur had heard that word for the last ten years. Arthur took his face away from the safe confines of Eames' neck and looked up to his eyes. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah I guess. Let's go." Stopping Arthur from leaving was Eames' hand, rooting them to the spot.

"Hang on, what's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're upset. Did I do something?"

"No, of course not. You know you can't do anything to upset me. I love you too much."

"I love you too." Eames smiled. He smiled like he had always done when Arthur said something romantic, which was a very rare occasion. Arthur thought about the first time he'd seen that smile.

_They were alone in the warehouse, working overtime on something especially difficult; Arthur couldn't remember the details anymore. They had been seeing each other for two weeks, but they weren't taking it especially seriously yet, just having fun. _

"_You know Eames," Arthur began as Eames tinkered with the watch on Arthur's wrist, gently caressing all the intricacies of the wrist band. "I really love it when you're this soft with me." At that, Eames looked up from the watch, one hundred percent of his attention on the glorious man in front of him. It started at the corners of his mouth, just a slight upturn at first, then all at once every beautiful crooked tooth was revealed and plush lips were pushed back in order to accommodate them._

Arthur was lost for words at the splendour of what he was witnessing, the glint in Eames' eyes simply breathtaking. Arthur had wanted to tell him right then and there that he was in love. That he was Eames', for eternity, and that Eames could do with him what he wished, as long as it involved keeping him. It doesn't matter now though. Now it's too late. Arthur rested his forehead against Eames' as they stood in the hotel room beside the bed. Eames' smile was still there, as was the glint in his eyes, and Arthur was still in love. After all this time.

"Did you enjoy your birthday party?" Eames' asked with unbridled curiosity. "Sorry I couldn't be there."

"Not really. Turning thirty sucks. I don't know how you did it."

"You were there when I did it. It's always a lot easier when you're there."

"I knew there was a secret to it. You could've told me sooner you know."

"I know, but there was never a good time. There never is. Besides, I _had_ planned to be there."

"Yeah I know, it was kind of a downer when I found out you wouldn't make it."

"You don't say." The couple chuckled as Eames' arms wound around Arthur's waist and Arthur inhaled deeply. There was that smell, the strong, comforting smell that had always been _Eames_. Arthur thought about the first time he'd caught that scent.

_It was the first time Arthur had bled out in a dream since he and Eames had confessed that they loved each other, it had taken them a hefty two years to do it, but their love was truly unstoppable. Arthur woke to the feel of solid warmth all around him. Eames had not been under in this dream: a forger – nor a thief – was necessary, but the pair had been inseparable for some time now, and Eames had offered to oversee the dreaming for this job._

"_Eames?" Arthur murmured into Eames' chest, the arms around him shaking as tears fell from the older man's eyes. "Eames are you alright?"_

"_My name." Eames croaked quietly._

"_What?"_

"_You were saying my name. You were calling for me, begging for me to save you. Saying that it was too soon, that you didn't want to go yet. It was torture." Eames let the tears fall fully now, his body shaking with the breaths he took as he held Arthur close to his side. Arthur's hands found the sides of Eames' face and he kissed the tears softly._

"_It's okay Eames, I'm not going anywhere. I'm fine; it was just a dream." But that smell surrounded him. Almost indescribable in its elegance. As though a roe deer, drinking from a river of silk, in a meadow of blossom and wonder, beneath a clear night sky crested with stars and hope, had somehow been captured in one single scent and placed delicately over every inch of the man's skin. Every time since then it had consumed Arthur in its haunting beauty._

Arthur had wanted to lie there in Eames' arms forever, if only to be around that aroma for a moment more. But it doesn't matter now. Now it's too late.

Arthur smiled and pulled away from the hug once more, heading for the door.

"Come on, I guess we should probably go."

"Well, I was wondering-"

"No Eames, you can't get changed. It took me a long time to place that outfit together and you'd best believe you're gonna wear it." Arthur turned back to look over Eames again. Black jacket and pants, shined black shoes, a crisp white shirt, with a dark grey tie that brought out the grey in Eames' eyes beautifully. "You look sharp. Come on." Arthur smiled, holding his hand out towards Eames.

"Well no, I was actually wondering if maybe I should stay here. This isn't really my thing."

"What do you mean it's not your thing? It's all you."

"I know but, you know what I mean. Maybe I shouldn't be there. With you."

"Oh." Arthur said, suddenly lost for words.

"Don't get me wrong – it's not that I don't want to go – and if I _did_ go, you would be the _only_ person I would want to go with trust me. Gosh, darling you look beautiful." He did. Arthur was wearing a similar black jacket and pants, with shined black shoes. He wore a black shirt with no tie, and a somewhat garishly bright plaid handkerchief fashionably placed in his breast pocket. "I just think that maybe it'd be better for you to go alone."

"But if I went alone I'd be leaving you." Arthur protested quietly.

"Don't worry pet, you know I'll be there in spirit – rooting you on!"

"But what about when I come back?"

"I'll still be here."

"You promise?" Arthur's voice broke a little.

"I promise. Now go, I'm right behind you." Arthur thought about the last time he'd heard those words.

_Even with all their planning, something had gone wrong. Somewhere in the formula they'd missed something, which meant that Eames, Arthur, and Cobb had ended up in separate holding cells, decked out like interrogation rooms, and were each being tortured. The worst part was, this was real. Someone was after their information and they were in no position to give it. Eames had figured that he'd sit pretty and wait it out, know that Arthur probably had a plan that was being put into action already. Sure enough, within two hours, Arthur was behind him, untying the ropes binding his wrists as Cobb pushed the dead men aside with his feet, unblocking the second doorway in the room, the fire exit, the way out. Cobb and Arthur both looked like they'd got it worse than Eames, Cobb carrying a significant limp and Arthur's breathing ragged, suggesting broken ribs or worse. Blood draining from his left eye, and in all likelihood a broken wrist, Eames thought he'd got off lightly. Once he was stood, he took Arthur up in his arms and kissed him, thankful they were alive, together again. He felt Arthur's smile against his neck and felt the tears fall onto his collar bone._

"_I was afraid they'd finished you." Arthur whispered, Cobb already out the door and running through the wilderness that surrounded the torture camp like the potentially free man he was. Eames could hear shouting and fast footsteps outside the other door, the one they'd barricaded with bodies. At least twenty voices. More than Arthur could fight off in the condition he was in. Arthur heard them too; they were making quick work of the obstacles in their way. Arthur turned to leave, pulling Eames by the hand. Eames pulled away and Arthur turned in confusion._

"_Go!" Eames shouted – cocking one of the guards' guns - over the sound of the door coming off its hinges. "I'm right behind you!" So Arthur went. He ran. When he heard only his own breath he turned, just in time to see Eames smile at him in that way and wink, pulling the door closed. Arthur saw him no more._

Arthur wished he hadn't left. Wished he hadn't believed Eames. But it doesn't matter now. Now it's too late. The tears fell freely now as Arthur tried to gulp back the lump in his throat. Eames stood before him, sharp and smooth and soft as ever. Just like Arthur wished he _could_ be. Eames smiled at Arthur again. Just like he _had_. Arthur smiled back through his tears.

"I'll see you when I get back." His voice broke once more for him to add in a whisper. "I love you." Then Arthur, dressed head to toe in black, with Eames' favourite handkerchief fashionably placed in his breast pocket, headed out the door.

The funeral was beautiful. Eames would have hated it. People were quiet and polite and it was absent of colour, minus Arthur's plaid tribute. Nobody had a bad thing to say about him, everyone cried, and Arthur read Eames' favourite poem aloud:

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,  
>Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,<br>Silence the pianos and with muffled drum  
>Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.<p>

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead  
>Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,<br>Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,  
>Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.<p>

He was my North, my South, my East and West,  
>My working week and my Sunday rest,<br>My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
>I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.<p>

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;  
>Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;<br>Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.  
>For nothing now can ever come to any good."<p>

Eames would have loved it.

When Arthur returned to the hotel, Eames was gone. Arthur ventured into the safe in his room, and took out a silver briefcase. Placing it on the bedside table, he climbed – fully dressed – under the covers, set the time to the highest it would go, and, figuring the somnacin would probably be what finished it all, fell into his final sleep.

When Arthur opened his eyes, Eames was stood waiting for him on the shore, dressed in that fine suit. "I told you I'd be here. I waited for you darling. Now, shall we crack on? I do believe I've to make up for missing your birthday. Can't believe my boy turned thirty without me! Though I s'pose neither of us saw that one coming ay?" Eames chuckled, tucking Arthur under his shoulder and turning them around to walk further onto the island. Arthur, absently listening to the gibberish Eames was spouting, thought about all the 'darling's, all the smiles, all the smells, and smiled.


End file.
